ithout being told, Mung realized that this
carnivorism she had just witnessed was ineluctably linked to the multiple
graves. Retreating along the tree branch (with a heart-sick caution), her reunion spoiled
by what she dearly hoped was a band of juvenile renegades, the elderly monkey
continued her search for those uncorrupted. It was not easy. The musk that marked her
could likewise damn her, if kith from kith and kin from kin had been estranged. She might
be mistaken for an enemy, a meat-eater (though sniffs at groin and armpit would confirm
her vegetarianism). What, she wondered, had the time elapsed brought to bear? Whom among
her peers (in a shrinking habitat filled with discord) had managed (against such mounting
pressures) to survive?

We, came her
answer from the canopy, us from the roots, knots, crooks, and vines,
weuswe from an isolated stand of trees
intermingling a universe unto themselves a green and lush arboreal haven
wherein welcomes whisperedsubtly, psychicallymixed with the breeze-stirred
leaves. Mung, suspended in their midst, found every nerve alert to her troupes
spontaneous greetinginvisible though it was; not a whiskers twitch nor a
flea-bites itch betrayed her brethrens presence. Theirs was an indirect
attendance, if no less palpable to such a one adept at its cryptic signs even
to one grown rusty perceptions put in touch like fingers passing over Braille
dispelling tension onto Mungs unfurled extremitythe signal for her clan to
come out from hiding.

Muzzles nuzzled. The course
of Mungs experience mapped her fur with telltale scents, each tuft a customized
codewhose decipherment, alas, would have to waitfor she, once taken for dead,
had come to life, stood resurrected! She, abducted by Wind, by Destiny had been
returned

to a tribe in mortal
jeopardy. It was the Elders who had perished (one and all) upon that pyre, which had been
set by errant youthstill up in arms.

With tools, it
started.

Yes, with
tools.

O, terrible!

Never listen.

Thats the
problem; youngsters never, ever heed.

They knew the
Rule.

For sure.

And broke it. Wanted
sticks.

Then bows and
arrows.

Spears, and what
not.

Terrible.
Terrible!

Why cant
youngsters ever listen?

It got worse.

O, yes, much worse.
The killings started.

O, the killings,
Mung. So senseless.

Done for sport.

Just youngsters
misbehaving, as youngsters must.

Must not; we
all have brains that need be bridled.

True, but
youth 

Must heed as
well.

Except they
dont.

You mean they
wouldnt.

True, they liked
what they were doing, thought it fun to make another living, breathing creature
dead.

A crude
enjoyment.

Its a shame to
gain by dealing death on purpose.

Thats the
truth.

An evil
precedent.

And to do what they
did next!

Was even worse.

It caused the
warp.

The awful turn.

Their spirits
twisted.

Transformed
totally.

Felt superior.

Thats the crux.
Their minds puffed up.

Grew big as boulders,
broad as tree trunks.

Proud as promenading
peacocks.

"Who were we to
tell them different?" "Who were we but backward, lazy, measly
leaf-eaters?"

At this point every voice
fell silent. Mung sat stunned. The worst had happenedan atrocity one
with which she felt familiar. A recurrence? D�j� vu, her mind regressed through untold
years

through
incarnations

countless eras

epochs

stretching unto
eons

then, with lips
distendedmutelyMung affixed the primal blame.

Juke?

Whos
that?

Brought back, Mung
flinched; her subtext went unspokenyet the monkeys in attendance had, through
intuition, heard. She tried to censor apprehensions, re-assess the situation. Were the
Lesser Apes accursed henceforth, as the Great Apes had been prior? Or might there yet
exist some recourse, some redemptive intervention? Mung, bereft of those who would have
known her name (save by repute), who would have recognized her face not just her kindred
smell, despaired. Without the Elders, she was it. The awful weight of their authority now
fell solely onto her who wanted none. She took a breath. And then, acknowledging the
import every word from her would carry, she decided it was time, instead, to listen
to observe to sink the well of her ancestral understanding.

With such heavy obligations
(for a soul advanced in frailty) Mung delayed her second childhood. She was titled
"Venerable Sage"a role for which she humbly judged herself miscast,
despite the rumors. Word had spread about her Hegira from the Humans. Hope
revivedamong disciples

whereas dread
described the rebel camps reaction. Had a Simian really come to comprehend the
Uprights language, learned to cipher, gained proficiency in the Land of Wayward
Ways? Could it be true that Mans undoing had been posited, even forecast? Those who
killed for food suspected plots afoot, grew anxious, wary. They were outlaws; justice
threatened. Numb to neither doubt nor guilt, the freshman flesh-consumers rehashed their
position.

DO NOT
"BUT" ME! Look at Uprights. When its cold they make a campfire; when it
rains, they build a roofwhile we sit shivering like a homeless mob of morons in our
pelage. They apply themselves, is what Im saying. We subsist. What for? Our
link in the food chain? Cosmic concord? Yuk. Im sick of fields Elysian. Weve
been cultivating indolence, calling it philosophy!

Too extreme. I think
the blaze we set, for instance 

That was purely
accidental. Flames go crazy, once theyve started. How were we to know our show of
strength would fry that clique of fossils? Serves them right for trying to dictate.

They at least
refrained from force.

They used
persuasionpower is powerbacked by penalties: censure, exile.

But 

DONT
"BUT" ME!

Or youll what;
bash in my skull or torch my fur? The Realm of Reason settles arguments by consensus not
coercion. If one wins by might or stealth one loses in the long-run.

Im here now!
Dont talk of long-runs; life can start and end in a wince. This "Realm of
Reason" is for souls in need shepherding; were not livestock.

She has notions odd
and new and even radical.

Who?

The Sage. She merely
wants for us to re-unite, they say.

Weve split.
Thats final. Dont be fooled by bits of shrewd misinformation. Sure, they want
us back; were threats. Our independence proves them wrong. They fear our fierceness.
They abhor our zest for unalloyed autonomy. Were progressive; theyre
reactionary. Were the fittest of the fit; theyre frailand she who leads
them isnt "sage" so much as senile!

This debate, no matter how
much meat the revolting monkeys swallowed, came up often. Even he who argued loudest
longed to meet the far-famed Ancient (disrespect for whom was little more than an act, a
bold charade that contradicted basic Simian-Nation norms). The Rebel Leader, furthermore,
shared with Mung a common siretheir troupes polygamy linking members in a
daisy-chain of dominance that ensured, if not accord, at least affinity. Where Reason
faltered, Bonds of Blood might prevail.